The Replay (Boys of Richland #3)

13. Cecilia

cecilia

. . .

The pier feels like something out of a dream—or maybe a nightmare. It’s deserted, broken down, with boarded-up shops and the faded colors of a place that once thrived but now barely clings to life. The creak of the wooden boards beneath our feet is the only sound besides the distant crash of waves. Salt hangs in the air, thick and heavy, like it’s trying to settle in my lungs. I take a deep breath, feeling it sink into me. Somehow, it calms me.

“This place is incredible,” I whisper, more to myself than to Gabriel. He’s a few steps ahead, leading the way toward the rundown mini golf course at the far end of the pier. The wind catches in his dark hair, tousling it, making him look almost boyish.

He stops and turns, a small smile playing on his lips. “Used to be,” he says, his voice low. “Back when I was a kid, this place was always packed. People everywhere. Ice cream stands, the smell of churros in the air. The arcade would be lit up, and you’d hear the clink of quarters dropping into machines. Now …” He gestures around us to the broken pieces of what once was. “Now it’s just this.”

I follow him past what’s left of the arcade, the windows dark and smudged with years of neglect. But there’s something about it. I can see what it must’ve been like—laughter and life. And I understand why he comes here. It’s not about the place as it is now. It’s about what it used to be and the feeling it evokes.

“It’s kind of perfect,” I say. “Quiet. Empty. Peaceful.”

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, something flickers between us—understanding, maybe. I’m not sure. But then he nods and keeps walking.

We reach the mini golf course, and it’s ridiculous in the best possible way. Plastic animals faded by the sun, a couple of torn-up windmills, and rusted metal obstacles that look like they’d fall apart if we touched them too hard. But it’s charming in a strange, forgotten way.

“Are we breaking in?” I ask, half-smiling.

Gabriel smirks. “It’s not breaking in if no one cares anymore.”

With a quick glance around, he lifts a section of the flimsy fence, and we slip inside. There’s something thrilling about it, something that makes my heart beat a little faster. I haven’t done anything like this—anything remotely reckless—in so long. Maybe ever.

He grabs an old, chipped club, tossing me one as well. “You play?”

“I’m terrible at it,” I admit as I take the club. “But I’ll still beat you.”

He laughs, the sound rich and warm, echoing off the empty pier. “We’ll see.”

We start playing, moving from hole to hole, and I’m terrible, just like I said I’d be. Gabriel lets me win, I can tell, but I don’t call him out on it. I just enjoy the ease of it, the simplicity. For once, it’s not about saving me or dragging me through the mess I’ve been stuck in. It’s just this. The two of us, playing this stupid game in a forgotten place filled with forgotten memories.

As we play, we swap stories, trading pieces of our pasts like puzzle pieces. I tell him about my summers as a kid, about the trips to Yosemite my parents and I used to take before Dad got into politics and got too busy for extended vacations.

He listens, really listens, and when it’s his turn, he talks about his childhood—about Carlos.

“We were twins,” he says, lining up a shot at the next hole. “But we couldn’t have been more different. Carlos was ... impulsive. Always getting into trouble, always dragging me along with him.” He pauses, the ball rolling lazily down the green. “Fought like cats and dogs most days. But still, he was ... you know, my other half. He was my brother.”

He doesn’t look at me, his gaze fixed on the horizon. I don’t push, just wait.

“He got in with the wrong crowd in high school,” Gabriel continues, his voice tightening. “Started drinking, using. I think—no, I know—he was self-medicating. Depression, not that he’d ever admit it out loud. He didn’t talk about it, but the signs were all there if I’d bothered to pay attention.”

Gabriel shrugs. “We started growing apart sophomore year of high school but I didn’t really think anything of it. I was focused on soccer back then and sports weren’t really Carlos’s thing. When he got into drugs, he turned into a different person. He was volatile. Always picking fights and causing trouble. Between the drugs and the parties, it was obvious he was spiraling. I figured I’d give him his space and sooner or later, he’d hit rock bottom. And I told myself when he did, I’d be there to help him up. He was my brother. I had his back. Always. But he was too far gone by the time I realized just how bad shit really was with him. That he was in too deep to find his way to the surface.”

His words hang in the air, heavy like the salt on my skin. The ocean waves crash behind us, and for a second, it feels like the world narrows down to this moment, to Gabriel standing there, raw and open.

“I’m sorry,” I say, the words are inadequate but they’re all I have.

He nods, and when he finally looks at me, his eyes are darker, more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen. “It’s why I was so pushy with you in the beginning,” he says. “Did I ever tell you I was the one who found him?”

I shake my head.

“He came home high one night and my mom flipped out on him. I remember her screaming at him, telling him what a disappointment he was and that the very sight of him made her sick.”

Moisture pricks the backs of my eyes.

“I should have said something. Maybe if I did he …” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. That night, Carlos locked himself in his room. We had one of those Jack and Jill bathrooms between our bedrooms, and I remember hearing the water turn on. I figured he was maybe taking a cold shower. Trying to sober up. But the water was on for a really long time. I got this feeling in my chest.” He presses his hand over his heart. “It was tight and the pain was unlike anything I’d experienced before. I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know what. I knocked on the door, but he never answered. I pounded on the damn thing. I knew he was pissed off, and ignoring me was common behavior for him, but I don’t know, I just couldn’t shake the feeling. My mom and dad had gone out that night after the fight so it was just the two of us and I started to get worried.”

I swallow hard, the weight of what he’s saying sinking in. He’s been carrying this—his brother, his guilt—like a chain around his neck.

“I broke through the door and nearly dislocated my shoulder in the process,” he says. “And then there he was,” his voice grows thick. “I knew as soon as I saw him that it was too late. He was already gone. There were pills spilled out over the counter. An empty bottle of Hornitos beside the tub. And there was blood.” A muscle ticks in his jaw. “There was so much fucking blood.”

Without hesitation, I go to him and wrap my arms around Gabriel’s waist. “I’m so sorry you had to see that,” I tell him, and it's then I realize what finding me must have done to him. No wonder he was angry. I can’t imagine the sort of emotions that must have triggered in him. “And I’m sorry you were the one to find me. You never should have had to?—”

“No,” he says, pulling me impossibly closer to his chest. “I’m sorry you found yourself in a position where you felt that was your only option. But I’m not sorry I’m the one who found you. As fucked up as that day was, it led me to you. No way would I change that.”

I take a deep breath, letting the salt air fill my lungs, and I tilt my head back to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to keep trying to save me,” I tell him.

His jaw clenches, and for a second, I think he’ll argue. But then he just nods. “I think I understand that now. But I’m not going anywhere. I want to wade through the muck with you. I won’t leave you on your own and hope you find your way out on the other side.”

The sound of the ocean fills the silence between us, and despite the heaviness of the conversation, I feel … lighter.

Gabriel squeezes me once, then pulls back, a small smile on his lips. “Come on. I think we’ve got a few more holes left.”